"This is a mistake," I say to myself, almost underneath my breath. "Sweet fuck this is a goddamn mistake and you're a fucking idiot, Max, you're a goddamned idiot."

My hand tightens around the stick and I know it's easy as pulling back and pulling down and I can pull out of the driveway and I can drive, it's easy, simple, painless. Something that has gone as far as to become second nature. Even easier than that, I could just quit, I could just turn the key and open the door and go back into my house and ignore this entirely. Why don't I do that?

"Fucking idiot," I say. "Fuck you, Max you goddamn – aughhh."

"You okay Max?" The sudden voice almost sends me leaping out of my skin.

"Peej. Yes." My head snaps to look at him standing outside the driver's side window then back at the console. "Yeah, I'm fine. What's up, buddy?"

A road so familiar, yet so unknown
inspired by FTB – SK Millz

"Not shit bro," he says, looking at me crossways. "What are you doing? Were you just yelling at yourself? Is your car okay?"

"My car's fi-" sigh and look at my lap. "I'm fine, Peej. Just, uh. Late."

"This isn't what I think it is, is it?" He's concerned. He probably should be.

Goddamnit.

"Depends what you think it is," I say, looking it up and forcing a sly look. Don't think it works though.

"Is this for Roxanne, man? Like, seriously?"

It didn't work. "Peej, I just-"

"Will you please tell her to fuck off already?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll tell her to fuck off."

"Oh- uh, I-"

"Gotta go, Peej," I say, putting the truck in reverse, causing the vehicle to jolt beneath me, between us.

Slowly start rolling away as my foot eases off the breaks.

"Seriously, Max," he says, annoyed. "You don't need this bullshit."

Truck comes to a stop and I look up into his eyes. "Yeah, Peej. I know."

"Why then?"

"I don't know," I say, shrugging. Closure, I guess? To tell her to fuck off rather than just silently fade away? To put an end to it? "I don't know," I say.

Foot leaves the break and head swivels to check behind me.

Pull out of the driveway at an angle and kick the truck into forward.

Fuck it.

Take a right onto Carnsworth and drift into the left lane over a stretch of road. Pull into the turning lane and come to a stop at the light.
C'mon. Turn green. I just want to get this over with.

I try not to think about any of it. Any of the time we spent together. Good or bad. Laughing or yelling. Crying. For better or for worse.

Hands grip on the steering wheel. No music.
Typically music. Not this time. The clicking of the turn signal. The whooshing of cars passing by. My own breath. I hate this.

I hate everything about this and I want it to be over so badly but it isn't and I-

"Goddamnit, Max." Cursing myself out loud has become a bad habit. I try not to do it but it just happens.
Green light. Cut the wheel left as I pull forward and into a U turn.

My head hurts. Throat's dry. Hack into my left forearm as I steady myself into the right-hand lane. Take a right into the Gorilla Burger. Find a parking space and straighten myself out before coming to a stop and putting the truck in park.

My head is ringing. I have such a bad feeling about this. Such a goddamn bad feeling about this.

"You haven't touched your food." I haven't either. She hasn't noticed.

"Mhm." She's staring into her cellphone.

"You're really not doing much of anything."

"Sorry, hold on."

She smiles into her cellphone. I grimace to myself. "I need to say something."

"Need to or want to."

"I'm not sure. Maybe both."

"It's probably gonna be something whiny," she says flatly, absentmindedly eating a french fry off her plate while staring into her phone. "I don't wanna stop what I'm doing over something whiny."

"What are you doing?"

"Texting."

"Texting him?"

"Yupp."

"Jesus, why did you even invite me here."

"There you go being whiny again. Because we're friends."

"We are not friends," I frown.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I hate myself almost as much as I hate you," I sigh. I fantasize about being in bed, staring at the ceiling. Existing comfortably rather than in an airlock of awkward.

"So goddamn whiny," she says. "Part of why I left you."

"You were cheating on me."

"Oh my god, Max, I didn't even cheat on you really. You're always doing this. Blowing everything so insanely out of proportions to feel sorry for yourself, it's fucking unreal. Quit being so dramatic," she says over her phone through the french fry hanging out her mouth, crushed between her clenched teeth. She looks back down at her phone and works the rest of the french fry into her mouth without the use of her hands. Like a turtle. "You are such a goddamn loser."

"I told you I was a loser when we started dating," I say. I stare at her forehead for some reason. It's really big under those bangs. The bangs give you an illusion that her forehead isn't big, but it is. I've seen it.

"Yeah, but like," she swallows, "at EVERYTHING. You don't do ANYTHING. You don't accomplish ANYTHING. Watching you fail at the most basic of functions in life is not only aggravating, but it's also infinitely depressing."

"I'm afraid I don't have a damn thing to say to that."

"I know you don't," she says.

"Welp," I sigh, standing up and adjusting my belt line. "I'd better get out of here. Please lose my number and never contact me again."

She shrugs in response.

"I mean it," I say. "Never again. We aren't friends."

"Okay."

I had, uh. Expected more of a response from that. I stand here awkwardly waiting for it for a moment before realizing not only do I look like an idiot, but I am one. Sigh. "Goddamnit Max."

"Mhm."

Really shouldn't talk to myself with other people present. Anxiety washes over me like a hailstorm and I speedwalk out of the place keeping my head down.

In my truck, I'm crying. Sitting idle in the Gorilla Burger parking lot. "Fucking Powerline," I say, trying to rip the jewel case in half but only cracking it in places and making it fall apart, "you RUIN EVERYTHING."

The pieces fall to my feet and my forehead thunks against the steering wheel as I let out a weakened sob. I hate myself.

A high pitched shriek snaps me out of it. Head shoots up and eyes dart from mirror to mirror. Pretty sure it came from behind me. Vision's blurry. Blink and wipe.

Roxanne?! Hastily unbuckle my belt and lurch for the handle and pull while pressing my shoulder against the door. Nothing. Locked. Unlock and try again before spilling out onto the concrete. Restore balance you goddamn idiot, get your shit together. "Roxanne?!"

The guy pulling her hair and pointing the gun to her head points it at me. I've made a mistake. I've made a horrible, horrible mistake.

"You aint no goddamn goblin."

I can feel my eyes widening. Alarms are going off in my head and this time there isn't a snooze button.

"Answer me, boy!" he waggles his pistol at me, wrapping his arm around Roxanne's neck and dragging her slowly in my direction. "You aint no goddamn goblin!"

"No!" I say, shaking my head frantically and throwing my hands up. "I, uh. I aint no g-goblin. Heh."

"You think this is funny?!" he says violently shaking his handgun in my direction as he speaks. "You think goblins is goddamn funny?!"

"No, I just," I blurt out before realizing I had nowhere to go with the beginning of that sentence. I have nowhere to go with any sentence.

"You jes what?" He stops just short of the tail of my truck. Cat. Chubby, medium height. Can't tell if he's winking constantly or missing an eye. He's got a grin like a Jack-O-Lantern and he smells like old beans.

"I don't know," I say. "I've made a mistake?"

"Mm. Toss me them keys."

Keychain around my index finger, hadn't even considered starting the truck yet. I was sitting there, just sitting there. Pathetic.
Reactionary underhand toss. The keys bounce off his forehead and fall to the cement below. He is completely unaffected, one arm still around Roxanne and one hand pointing his gun at me. I try to shield myself from a potential bullet with my hands. In hindsight, this makes me look stupid, but it just sorta happened.

"Pick up them keys," he says, licking his teeth.

Slowly approach him an inch at a time, or at least what feels like it. Bend over and pick up the keys and scoot back and away, keeping my demeanor low.

"Stand up straight in fronna that open door and don't do nothin' stupid," he says, making their way around the truck to the passenger's side. "Open the door."

"The door's open," I blurt out. "I'm waiting by the truck like you asked."

"Not you. You."

"It's locked."

"Unlock the door!"

"Me or her?"

"You! Goddamnit! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR. THE BOTH OF YE."

Spin around and fumble for the unlock switch. Lock, lock, unlock, Roxanne pulls door handle, nothing. "Too early," I say.

"Goddamnit, Max," she says.

Press it again. "Try now."

She opens the door and the cat lets her loose, keeping the gun pointed at the back of her head. "Climb on up."

She crawls up into the bench seat, raking fast food wrappers, receipts into the floorboard. "This is fucking disgusting, Max."

"Says Ms. Piles of dishes in her room."

"Shut the fuck up, Max," she says, lifting the arm rest and sitting down in the middle seat.

"Climb up!" he reiterates. I thought he was just stalking to her. Awkwardly, I scoot into the driver's seat and close the door.

Everything about this situation is infinitely fucking awful. I don't know how else to describe it. I don't know, I was never much of a writer.

The side of Roxanne's body presses against mine as our unknown captor crams himself in. There's not enough room to put a safetybelt on. This does not bode well. Jam the key into the ignition and turn it as the door slams.

"We goin' ta Spoonerville Southside Reserves," he says, playing with the buttons and dials on my console. I try to ignore this and the fluctuating temperatures of air blasting me in the face as I put the vehicle in reverse and pull out of the parking lot. "Ye know where we goin'?"

"Spoonerville Southside Reserves," I say.

"Where dat?"

"Farthing St," I say. "Across from WompaLonga's Funtime Garage."

"Do they offer discounts to war vets?"

"The.. bank?"

"Nah. WompaLonga's."

"I, uh. I dunno sir," swallowing is like trying to force a nightmare down a dream pipe. "I haven't been there since I was a kid."

"Damn shame if they don't, honestly," he says, gruffly. "I hear that place is damn fine times."

Slowly crawl my way across three lanes of traffic in a short stretch to thankfully lead to the stoplight of Froth and Carnsworth. Signal and drift into the turning lane.

Truck comes to a rocky halt at the stop light and everybody jolts forward and I find myself praying the gun didn't go off. It didn't. It's not like I would know for sure even afterhand. Fuck off, I'm nervous. Typically a way better driver. I think.

Eyes open, green arrow. Take a left onto Froth. He starts speaking again, as we make our way down this country road.

"You guys like The Ramones?" he asks. Look over for a brief second, seeing his sparkling eyes looking out forward, at the road. "I love The Ramones. They got that SOUND, ya know? Every song sounds the same. I love it. I don't understand why people get hung up on specifics, with music, you know. It's all just noises in my head."

Take a right down Wroggle and almost immediately hit a three way intersection. Signal and pull into the lefthand turning lane, pulling onto Verde. Speed up reluctantly.

45 mph. Five over the speed limit. Anymore and he might notice. Don't want that. Just enough to save the day.
Every drop of sweat leaking from my body is like lava melting my goddamn face off.

I hate this, I hate everything about it. Yield my way righ to Farthing and speed up, going 65 and purposely driving with one wheel over the white line. He doesn't notice.
Share a look with Roxanne, hoping for some kind of answer. Looking into her face, it seems like she has an idea, but there's nothing I can gain from an expression. I don't know why I thought that would work. I don't have psychic powers. I can't read minds. Please don't judge me.

"I remember when gods were balloons," he says, licking his teeth and smelling his gun barrel. "I remember why the POP made so many people upset!"

He laughs at both Roxanne and I's slight jump to the loud contrast is his speech. Or maybe he's just laughing at something in his head. It's hard to tell with this guy.

Hang a Ray into the parking lot of the bank. "Keep going right," he says. "The drive thru will be up here on your Louie."

"We're robbing the drivethrough?" I ask, following his directions despite my instincts of this being the dumbest fucking idea ever. "Don't they have bulletproof windows?"

"Nah, that shit's made up," he says, matter of factly. "Fantasy shit. Science what have you."

This is ideologically offensive for so many reasons, and I can see Roxanne agrees with just a sideways glance. Regardless, I do what I'm told and pull up besides the middle station and lean back as far as I can, closing my eyes. Hoping I'll be okay.

"Hello how may I help you," the squirrel occupying the booth says.

"Tell that bitch to give me all the money or I'll kill her."

"GIVE HER ALL THE MONEY OR HE'LL KILL YOU!"

I'm trying so fucking hard not to cry right now. You have no goddamn idea.

"Sir, I can hear your friend, and you can tell him that this glass is bulletproof."

"This glass is bullet-"

"THREE! TWO! ONE!"

Our captor fires around into the window, the bullet deafening us in the process and shattering passenger side window with the window.

"I told you, sir, them windows is bulletproof. If I was you, I'd hang onto them hostages because the law is on the way."

"Drive, chump!" he says, waving the gun in my face.

"Thanks a lot," I murmur, kicking the vehicle into drive and hanging a Ray onto Tinglesac.

"Jam it!" he says, pointing forward.

"The speed limit is 25, we don't want to attract any unwanted atten-"

He cuts me off, pulling the hammer back on his gun. "I SAID JAM IT."

I slam jam as hard as I can on the gas and close my eyes. Raking the steering wheel to the right, we just barely make this curve in our lane on this backwoods road. The sound of sirens start blaring behind us.

"Goblins," he says through gnashed teeth. "I fucking hate goblins."

He unloads the magazine from his pistol and digs in his pockets. Pulling out two bullets, he stuffs them into the magazine and reloads it, rolling down the window.

"I need some music!" he exclaims, pushing my radio button in and working the dial frantically. "You guys like 867.93?!"

Rock The Casbah by The Clash loudly fills the cab over the ringing left behind by his previous gunshot.
I think my fucking ears are bleeding.

"SHAREEF DON'T LIKE IT!" he screams, horribly off key, thumbing the hammer back on his gun. "ROCK THE CASBAH! ROCK THE CASBAH!"
He repositions himself facing towards the window, kicking Roxanne in the thighs, screaming over his shoulder at me. "MAINTAIN SPEED UNTIL I TELL YOU TO KICK IT, AIGHT?!"

THIS IS NOT KOSHER!

With my left hand I grab the dangling seatbelt and I look over for a moment – just a moment, just long enough to catch her eyes and hand her the belt. She nods and stuffs it into her seat buckle by his feet as he squirms his upper half out the window and lets out a war cry. Keeping my eye on the road, I stray for just a second to look up into the rear-view mirror at Roxanne's reflection and let out a nod. Speed hits 67 as she returns it and I spontaneously cut the wheel on this country road, just in time to hear three gunshots go off, and I fade to the sweet noises of tearing metal and sirens and impact and -

"Max?" her voice calls out to me from beyond the void. She's worried, I can tell. "Maxxy?"

"Don't.. call me... Maxy..."

Open my eyes to blue sky. Dark blue sky. It's starting to rain. I can tell by the raindrops on my face.
I can't move. I can't think.

"Max!" her voice calls out to me among the scraping of the gurney wheels against the pavement. The three ambulance guys halt, just before lifting me into the ambulance. "WAIT!"

They stop. My eyes drift towards her.

"Max! You okay?"

I look up to one of my caretakers, and he looks away. "I don't know," I say. "Are you?"

"Yeah," she laughs nervously. "They're not taking me away in a stretcher!"

"They're taking me away in one."

There's silence for a moment before she says "I hope you're okay. I really do."

I can tell by her voice and her demeanor that she means it. I figure this is as good a time as any to talk. "Shortly before we broke up, I had this dream," I say, my words leaping from my throat involuntarily.

"I don't want to hear about your dreams, Max."

"Humor me."

"Fine."

"I had this dream where I was staying in this hotel. Only it was this grandiose, old timey hotel, the kind you see in movies. Lavish carpeting, epic chandeliers and lighting fixtures, cinematic eye candy, right?"

She nods.

"I could tell it was night time from inside the hotel, not because I could see outside, there were no windows. I was walking through the grand halls and in my hand was this music box – and it was open. I could feel it in my heart that this music box was this thing of comfort to me, and even though it was broken and the notes sounded horribly off key, I loved it and it was like a sedative to me. Some of the notes hit pinpoint and wrapped me up in a warm, fuzzy blanket. Other notes, so broken with wear and tear, they would screech into my brain and send shivers down my spine. Such a high contrast between perfection and absolute failure, I felt balanced. Like I could accept or understand anything. And I was heading back up to the room, and I knew you were there. I could see you up there waiting on me. The room so bright with all the lamps lit with your arm around your knee, nervously chewing your lip like you do, waiting on me. Hoping I was all right. And as I wandered through these halls, listening to this music box, losing myself in what it was, the lights around me got dimmer, until I finally made my way to the elevator. Well, more like a lift, a flat platform to step on and flip a switch. Like, I love how in the real world that would seem so insanely out of place, but, like, it's something I didn't even think about it. And I was listening to this music box on the way up and I noticed myself stumbling, first. I noticed the dizziness and it was like I was drunk and on painkillers, or something, I just had no motorskills. I started to fumble the music box as I was all over the place on this platform, like a perturbed fiddler crab. The music box leaped from my hands and I sprung forward to catch it, overshooting my footing. Gravity took me and I was left floating in all that dark. At first, I worried about how bad it was gonna hurt when I landed, but next, I worried about you, up there, waiting for me. Hoping I was all right. Whether or not you loved me, I thought to myself, it would still be super shitty of me to not just show back up, right? But as I was falling for what felt like an eternity, the fear of how painful the landing would be kinda faded and I lost myself. I lost myself in all that darkness and at first it was terrifying, but I sorta realize that any fears you have inside of that dark are your own. It's all an extension of you. Or me, in this case. It's all an extension of myself and it's simplified itself to darkness, but all that's in that darkness is darkness. And I don't know that I'm scared anymore, really more curious than anything."

"You know what that means better than I do. Why tell me?"

"I don't know," I say. I honestly don't know.